


When You're A Lecter

by mybonesohno



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Addams Family AU, Addams Family References, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Addams Family Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Flirting, Ballroom Dancing, Character Death, Dark Will Graham, Demons, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Family Reunions, First Meetings, Flirting, Flowers, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal/The Addams Family, Jealous Will Graham, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Meet-Cute, Monsters, Murder, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, My First Fanfic, Party, Revenge, Tango, Weddings, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybonesohno/pseuds/mybonesohno
Summary: They're creepy and they're kooky, they also happen to be the only way of redeeming the Graham family name. His father snagged the invitations, now all Will Graham has to do is woo himself a wife from the Lecter household. But it seems fate has some mysterious and spooky plans in store. Its family first, family last and family by and by. When you're a Lecter, you do what Lecters do or die.
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Chiyoh & Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter & Mischa Lecter, Jimmy Price & Brian Zeller, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Miriam Lass, Will Graham & Mischa Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 35
Kudos: 305





	1. The Party

Will Graham's day began at 6 o' clock sharp, though whether that meant the early morning or the early evening was anybody's guess. He worked diligently in his simple family home, working through his chores from A to Z and then back again. Feeding the dogs, feeding the family when his turn came, feeding it-that-would-not-be-named that resided in the moss and snail adorned basement of the wooded house in the middle of the strangest of forests. It was a life of hard work, but comfort nonetheless. One had to work hard to thrive in a lineage like the Graham family, after all. They were a family of great renown - well, they had been. 

Through a series of missteps and a few bad alliances over the years (namely, they had prefered cake to bread during the french revolution), the Grahams had tripped, stumbled, jumped and splashed on a steady, sturdy trip to the lowest rungs of the bizarre social ladder they resided on. They'd been there for years now, more or less exiled over the years from their ever so cosy, ever so priceless digs in Baltimore to a just-better-than-average family home on the outskirts of Virginia. To Will, the place was paradise. Expansive grounds to wreak havoc on from morning til night, with precious little chance of anything more than a stray dog or a hiker to stumble upon them. It was where Will had lived all his life, befriending and taming anything that took his fancy and disposing of the rest with his sister Miriam in a game they'd perfected over the years, aptly titled 'is there a God?' Often, they came to no conclusions at all. Often, that only encouraged them to try again. 

Up until his twenties, Will had lived the traditional Graham lifestyle. He had sat on his ass and done nothing more than kept up with his homeschooling, looked presentable when presented with company (however rarely that was) and proudly flaunted all his quirks and tendency to let his loyal strays run rampant across the grounds, occasionally digging up the corpse of the mailwoman that Miriam had worked so very hard to bury, and really Will would it hurt to move your hunting grounds a little further from hers? But all good things must come to an end, and at 29 his father was beginning to take note of the fact that not only were his children unmarried, but just the right fit for the family that resided pretty and unmoved at the very peak of the social ladder. 

The Lecter family, to be exact. It was a bold move - one that could end in them being shunted down off the ladder completely, down down deep into the depths where no self respecting outside-the-ordinary family dared to tread. Regular society. The thought was enough to make Will shudder and consider it. All that he'd have to do for it, the thought was unbearable. Wash away the near permanent streaks of blood on his dog's maws and paws, get rid of his lovingly intricate collection of fishing lures that were...well, more than meats the eye, at the very least. Hell, he'd probably have to relinquish most of his treasured hobbies - might even have to give up murder. And what then? Will wasn't sure he'd last a life so dull. 

So he, as much as any Graham, knew there was no room for error. Will and Miriam pitted against Hannibal and Chiyoh. Or, more specifically, their parents. The elder Lecters were in charge of this whole affair as much as the elder Grahams pulled the strings behind Will. He resented it, to be tugged and pulled and toyed with for the sake of honour. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and for now Will was willing to let himself be groomed like a dog for a show, his hair tamed as much as it could be with a product that looked and smelled far too much like blood to be innocent. Still, the way those curls fell it was no wonder a blood sacrifice was required to keep them in place. 

The plan was coordinated well, but as any murderer worth their corpse will tell you, simplicity was a man's best friend. Getting the body was the hard part, but what one did with it after was anybody's guess. Take the organs and turn them to dog treats, keep the bones as fishing hooks. Perhaps that's what he would do to his new wife. The thought was soothing, a lullaby to offset the barrage of instructions from his parents as both himself and Miriam were cleaned up and pushed off into a carriage drawn by ghostly horses. Their first meeting with the Lecters. A meeting Will could only hope wouldn't be their last. A simple plan, it was just a case of executing it.

Once a year, when the last leaf of autumn fell and announced the deathly crawl of winter, the Lecters held a memorial - every member of their clan and acquaintanceship would gather on the grounds and somberly recount their bitterest and most heartfelt of memories for the Lecters dead, living and as yet undecided. It was a sorrowful, lonely experience. To be stood in a graveyard and remind oneself of all they knew about those that had once been. And Will had to confess that despite the importance of their visit, there was excitement in his eyes. Idly hoping to see some of the stranger Lecters and suitors alike begin to cry over the ritual (well really, who cried over something as marvellous as a dead body?), Will only seemed to drift out of his thoughts when the carriage drew to a halt and the distant beckon of chatter and laughter poured like poison from the party beyond. 

Will took a breath and mentally pleaded with whatever voice would listen to get rid of the headache creeping up to the front of his skull. He had to stay grounded, stay sobered despite the urge to enjoy the morose atmosphere in his own way, which usually fell somewhere close to standing near the outskirts and drinking it all in with the safety of knowing he could blend in there - or at the very least make it clear he'd rather live a thousand years than be spoken to. Now was not the time for enjoyment. He was here for a reason, to track down Chiyoh Lecter while Miriam tracked down Hannibal, and to hope beyond hope things went well enough for either of them to be in with the slightest of chances. Frankly, Will was beginning to doubt it. Mason and Margot Verger, Beverley Katz, Alana Bloom. They were surrounded by competition that seemed to have their eyes set on similar prizes. But at the very least, Will knew something they didn't. He knew that a good lure was much more effective than spending hours on the hunt. If he wanted miss Lecter to look his way, he shouldn't spend the night chasing her like a hound. He'd find her in time.

For now, there were grounds to explore.

The Lecter graveyard was gorgeous, and as Will made his way betwixt and between person after person (and the occasional ghost), he was struck by just how ornate it all looked. Each crypt was suitably dusted in moss and spiderwebs, and each grave stood proudly accompanied by a statue depicting the deaths of Lecter ancestors. Dominykas Lecter, Buried in an avalanche. Egle Lecter, strangled by an unruly tree. Will gazed at the statues with increasing interest, occasionally matching a name to a face when a ghost or two drifted by - to his surprise, the faces were almost identical. Either their decrepit bodies had been cast in plaster (a fantastic idea, in Will's opinion), or someone in the Lecter household was a marvellous artist. 

Will moved like a phantom, sipping softly at a crystalline glass that contained something that could have been wine as much as it could have been blood (such a versatile material!) as he passed from graveside to graveside, glancing down with a curious expression at a statue that came up to Will's hips. Plaster skin carved into an intricately placid expression, no sign of any gore or horror about her tiny form - a perfectly angelic representation of this Lector. Will pursed his lips, kneeling down and brushing a few stray spiders from the lettering of her gravestone. Some clambered onto his hand, but he didn't appear to mind, idly watching them scuttle up his sleeve before his attention turned back to the intricate lettering. 'Mischa Lecter, Died of-' and there it ended, trailing off into overlapping etches that were rough at the edges and altogether more frantic. Clearly, this little Lecter was a mystery - a well loved one, at that. Her statue stood perfectly clean and neat, no sign of wear. Either she had died recently, or someone wanted to honour her beyond death. 

After a moment more of staring at the intricate little Lecter, Will stood straight again to see another part of the statue he hadn't seen before - different from the rest without a doubt. A tall man with no gravestone to match his presence, his perfectly painted hand on Mischa's shoulder. For a moment, Will could have mistaken him for a living man - but even with his more fanciful, more macabre sensibilities he could see that no living thing could stand that still and remain unbreathing and unblinking for so long. Nonetheless, Will's suspicions lingered. So for a moment longer he lingered too, speaking to himself over the hum and chatter of the party.

"You don't have a gravestone." He remarked, voice level and soft as he glanced up to the unmoving Lecter with curiously dark eyes. "Did you kill her? Perhaps that's why." He paused, glancing around as though his hosts would hear "Though I never thought the Lecters would be boring enough to do something like that over a little thing like murder. I'd expect them to kill you, of course. But to deny you a grave..." Will trailed off with a shake of his head, now walking a curious circle around the statue and making remarks as he moved. He was pleasant to look at, with hair like spiderweb on a hay bale and eyes that withheld a certain pleased malice. He certainly looked capable of murder "You're awfully lifelike. Perhaps you were embalmed and posed instead of buried. Maybe your ghost could tell me the story, Mr. Lecter - whichever Lecter you are" Will chuckled, pausing for a moment as he glanced to the statue's hand now on Mischa's neck instead of her shoulder. He could have sworn it hadn't been there before. Far more suspicious, Will eventually managed to chalk it up to haunted statues and placed a hand atop the anonymous Lecter's. Indeed cold enough to be dead, which soothed him enough to smile and glance towards the statue's unblinking face as the spiders up Will's sleeve scuttled out over to meet his freezing cold flesh "Have a nice night, whoever you are. I hope your ghost is enjoying himself."

Thinking little more of it, Will turned and cast a glance towards the moon. It was just about to reach its peak, which meant the party was half over. By the time the sun rose, Will's chances would be gone. Perhaps his strategy of luring instead of hunting wasn't all it presented itself to be. Sucking in a sobering breath, Will took another sip from his glass and began to step into the dizzying chaos, glancing over his shoulder to find the crowd had already swallowed him whole. Nonetheless, despite being stuck in the belly of the beast Will managed to call towards his potentially haunted plaster acquaintance "Wish me luck, Mr. Lecter."

A brief moment of clarity that allowed a glance toward the still unmoving figure, until once more Will was lost in the swirl of satin and silk and spiderweb. The music was familiar, as was the dance, and the people were outlandish enough for him to feel right at home, but still he felt far too uneasy to relax. He had to find Chiyoh, he had to see how Miriam was coping with Hannibal and more than that he had to make at least enough of an impression to be considered in the macabre pageantry of being considered a fitting groom. Will didn't do well under a time limit, nor did he do well under pressure. And all at once it felt as though the spinning of the bizarre and alluring dance macabre around him was going fast enough to sweep him in. A hurricane he wanted no place in the eye of. Swallowing his fears and haphazardly wiping sweat from his hands onto his trousers, Will took a purposeful step forth, only to stumble straight into the very creature he had been hunting (luring?).

"Miss Lecter! My apologies, I didn't see you there, how are you-" 

A pause, as up from behind a shadow crept and crawled its way up behind and swallowed him whole, distracting him for a moment. Giving a pause, he turned his head to see the statue from moments prior, glancing to him with an infuriatingly unreadable expression. The simple plan of sweet talking an heiress rapidly wilting (and not in the good way), Will glanced towards Chiyoh for what he hoped was some kind of explanation for their moving statues, only to find a similarly plain expression. What an infuriating family trait. Quite ready to curse the Lecter name entirely from the stress of the situation, Will's shoulders relaxed just slightly when he was offered an explanation "Oh. Good evening, Hannibal. Mr. ...whomever you are, this is my brother, Hannibal Lecter" 

Far too tempted to smash the glass against the floor and impale himself on the shards, Will glanced over as though he couldn't see exactly how this would play out. He had accused a Lecter heir of murder without even bothering to introduce himself first, nothing but disaster could come of that. Already running through how long it would take him to rush home and pack his things before his family uncovered his stupidity, Will managed to keep his expression as neutral as he could get it, speaking through gritted teeth "Good evening, Mr. Lecter. I didn't think we'd meet tonight." 

Hannibal revealed nothing other than a strikingly entrancing smile, glancing from Chiyoh to Will. "It's Doctor, actually. And I presume you're Mr. Graham?" To that he nodded, lip curling at the notoriety surrounding his name. He didn't miss how the Lecters surrounding them seemed to withdraw, nor did he miss how the suitors encircling them seemed to draw in - confident that neither would wish to be seen talking to the Graham family. But to Will's shock, little reaction came from either sibling. They shared a meaningful moment of eye contact, before Chiyoh began to drift from the conversation and towards the Vergers fighting in the corner. Wincing even though he'd been expecting it, stormy blue eyes whipped to face Hannibal; waiting to be suitably torn into for being such a rude idiot. 

"Pleased to meet you then, Mr Graham. How are you tonight?" 

Once again, no interest in chastising or reprimanding him. It made a nice change, but still the strangest feeling remained that Hannibal was playing with his food. Was it Hannibal himself, was it the cousin that had made it their life's purpose to mess with the Graham family, damned Cousin Wednesday "Perfectly dreadful." He answered truthfully enough, studying his features like if he stared hard enough something would appear - anything to prove what kind of malicious Hannibal's intentions were

"I'm glad to hear it. Would you allow me a walk in the garden with you, Mr Graham?"

But then again, What if they weren't? Was Will the unfortunate fly in a black widow's web or the spider hoping to mate? In the end, did it matter? He'd be eaten either way. Suddenly struck by the thought he'd been hunting the wrong sibling, Will curiously lifted his hand and let Hannibal take it, the faintest smile gracing his pale, chapped lips. The faintest glint in his sunken, bagged eyes. Strange flutter in his stomach once again, feelings he once again couldn't distinguish from a hex or reality (he'd kill Cousin Wednesday if those hexes kept up, he was sure)

"I'd hate nothing more, Dr. Lecter."


	2. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Lecter wants to speak with him, and suddenly Will is quite thankful he brought his knife along. But still, this meeting seems far less hostile than he expected. What a charming way to learn it takes two to tango.

The gardens were, as it turns out, more of a barren stretch of half dead grass, bordered by bushes that looked closer to three quarters dead. There were no flowers to speak of, other than the stiff brown remains of wilted weeds - and the only thing that seemed willing to thrive was the moss and ivy that scrambled up the cracks in the stone pathway and up the walls of the nearby greenhouse as though they were trying however they could to escape from the nightmare that was the Lecter garden. "It's beautiful." Will remarked, still carefully sipping from the glass he hadn't had chance to put down anywhere on the way to the garden. To be perfectly honest, Will found he didn't mind. A glass could be a useful thing when left alone with someone that could be a homicidal maniac just as much as he could be a potential friend - both, if he was lucky. "Do you poison it yourself or are the Lecters important enough to have gardeners for that sort of thing?" 

Hannibal seemed good natured enough, chuckling to himself and glancing towards Will as they walked. "Not a gardener exactly. We have a Chilton" Not caring to elaborate, he smiled and continued to walk, glancing towards Will once or twice with an undeniable fascination. There was something deeply unsettling about him. Sorrowful, tired eyes that glanced out across the world with a cynical gaze and a curl of his lip - now stained a slightly deeper red in whatever his beverage of choice had been. Whatever it was, it was black under the moonlight and served well in making Will look all the more haunting, despite the haphazard attempts at fixing his hair, which now sat in the strange gulf between slicked and neat and wild and curly. Will was entrancing, and even if he hadn't been his boldness was something that intrigued Hannibal. Made him curious enough to ignore all the sense that told him it would be far wiser to return to the party instead of being seen with a Graham. 

Will didn't seem to notice Hannibal's glances, far too busy glancing around the garden like he'd never seen something so beautiful. It looked so very unkempt, like it had gone years without being watered and even longer without tender care. It was perfect. Well, almost perfect. Eyes narrowing like a predator honing in on prey, Will took a few steps ahead and reached out towards a bordering bush, knife swiftly pulled from his back pocket as his footsteps landed on every crack in the stone and his fingers curled around a single red rose. Will gazed at it for a moment or two, idle and contemplative, before with a few quick motions of the knife in hand, all that remained of the bloom was its stem. "Your Chilton missed a spot." He remarked in a uniquely uncaring tone, holding out the rose and letting Hannibal take it. 

Lecter's expression - much like Will's - had yet to change since they had reached the garden, but for a moment Hannibal seemed close to it. His fingers curled around the rose without caring about the thorns, idly examining it before he threw it aside, happy to admire the barren stem Will had left behind "Keen eye, Mr Graham."

"Will." He corrected, admiring the blade of the knife before setting it back into his pocket for future use. His gaze eventually made its way back to Hannibal, and his footsteps seemed to slow until they were once again walking side by side, feeling strangely curious about each other. Like a serial killer meeting someone of the same breed for the very first time. And in a way, that was what they were. They walked in silence for a while through the rows of barren bushes that seemed to stretch out into forever, a labyrinthine display that never changed direction, until as it opened out into a clearing with a decrepit fountain and Will turned to see the path they had walked it seemed that they had indeed changed direction. The way they had entered the maze of bushes was completely out of sight, studded with twists and turns Will could have sworn hadn't been there before. What a charming maze, attempting to trap them inside and leave them to starve. 

The music from the party still rang clear through the walls of foliage, filling the solitude of the empty fountain with echoes of violin and cello. Will leaned in to listen, sighing to himself and basking in the ghostly concerto as Hannibal leaned against the weathered stone, curiously watching his behaviour. "You had some questions for me, Will. You left before I could answer them." Hannibal recalled with an amused smile as Graham eventually lifted his head, mimicking Hannibal's lean while his hands threaded through moss centuries old "You asked if I killed Mischa. I didn't - no one knows who did. And you asked if my ghost was having a good night. I can hardly speak for my ghost, but I'm having a perfectly horrible night. It's far quieter in the garden. Far less chance of running into someone" A pause, punctuated by Will gently setting his glass down on the edge of the fountain. "I wonder if you'd be willing to answer a few of my questions, Mr. Graham."

Hand drifting to the blade in his back pocket, Will nodded and slowly began to withdraw it, holding it tight in one hand "Of course, Dr. Lecter." 

The doctor straightened, reaching a hand into his suit jacket and gripping the handle of an ornate blade of his own, withdrawing it with surprising discreteness and standing just as Will moved to. The music of the party rose to a crescendo, and both men took a step forth, Will's hand on Hannibal's arm as it came to rest on his back, pointed steel flush against both their suit jackets. A dance macabre, a tango there was no guarantee either would live through. Eye contact intense and never faltering, they began to dance "Tell me, Will. What are your victims to you?" There was no call for asking whether or not Will had any victims, of course he did. His haunted eyes, his focus, his tendency to carry a weapon. Will was as much of a murderer as anyone at the Lecter gathering. 

Will hummed, taking a moment to consider his answer. They weren't people to him, that much was clear. But they weren't strictly monsters either. They were a means to an end, they were a way of training a few canines to sit, stay, fetch, tear and maul until all that remained was a mess Will would spend the next few hours cleaning away. A means to an end indeed. Training dummies, toys, slabs of- "Meat." Will responded, and Hannibal came as close as he had ever got to being speechless. "Meat." He repeated, his smile finally reaching his eyes "It seems we're more similar than our statuses decree, mio amico." Hannibal chuckled and released Will's hand for a moment as the dance dictated, their fingers gently linking again with an added passenger. A small plumage of flowers with jagged edged petals, white at the edges and crimson in its centre, as though it had been fed something rather more morbid (and remarkably multifunctional) than water. 

Sweet Williams, for enchantment and the idea of being lost in a world entirely new. 

"It seems Chilton missed another one. I suppose I'll torture him for that later. But their stems really are something to see. When the cells become plasmolyzed and it shrinks in on itself. Such a pretty dark green - perhaps you should grow some of your own to kill, Mr. Graham." To that, Will felt his stomach give another lurch, and after a moment of contemplating whether he had another reason to track down and dispose of Cousin Wednesday for hexing him again, he came to the conclusion that this was far stronger than any hex. A nausea he wasn't quite familiar with that made his hand close around the flower like it was more precious than gold. Smiling more than either were quite used to, Hannibal and Will continued to dance. 

Will's day had begun at 6 (whichever of the three 6s one preferred) and soon it would come to a close. Parties don't last forever, no matter how much an entrancing dance and haunting conversation makes one wish they did. Eventually the moon began to set, and Will knew he could do little more than pull away. Once morning came he would be considered an intruder, and needless to say he was no stranger to the way families like the Lecters treated their intruders. "It's been a terrible evening, Hannibal. But my sister will be worried about me, I have to leave." He left it at that, neatly backing away from Hanninal with a contemplative glance towards his blade. It would be nice, all things considered, to have the Grahams make a mark on the most recognizable family around, but not now. Not when Will's stomach churned and his heart flittered and bashed at his ribs like a bird that would rather die than stay caged. 

"Very well, carissimo. Good luck getting out of the garden alive" 

Will smiled and lifted his knife, expertly blocking the thorny vines that darted at him like snakes from the nearest bush. "Goodbye, Hannibal." With that, he was gone. Like a flash of lightning through the garden maze, past the graves and statues, straight through the ghost of dear cousin Lorrible Hurderer and into the ghostly carriage where Miriam sat waiting, arms crossed and brow arched at Will's less than pallid appearance and the sweet william's tucked into his hair and breast pocket like pins in a doll. "And where have you been? I spent all night looking for Hannibal and the closest I came to him was his Cousin Itt who promised to put in a good word for me" Will laughed (laughed!) quite breathlessly and glanced out the window, leaning back against his seat "Not a clue, dear sister. Suppose it wasn't meant to be" 

The lights of the party faded into the distance as the sun began to rise (though looking at the fog, you'd barely realize it), and Will felt as though he'd danced a dance he'd never recover from. As though his head had been forced into perpetual spinning that left him dazed enough to smile a sinister smile and lean his head out the window to feel the breeze whip across his face. His world had been turned on its head. Damn cousin Wednesday and her hexes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad people liked the last chapter!! Honestly I wasn't expecting this to go as well as it is shshshsd


	3. The Bouquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its the day after the party, and the Graham family is in for a lesson on just how effective flowers can be when courting someone

As per his norm, Will Graham's day should have started at 6 o'clock sharp (with reasonable doubt for precisely which 6 o'clock that was). However it seemed before his day had even started things had decided to run strangely. Which, for the Graham household, was no easy feat. For a start, Will had been woken up early to the sound of screaming most unusual to the house. He should know, he'd catalogued the kind of screams the house made and this was none of them. And when the house called out in its melancholic symphony, it rarely ever stood accompanied by the sound of barking and yelling from just outside the door. Something was up, and no matter how he resented it, Will would have to investigate. 

Giving an exaggerated groan as he lifted himself from the bed, Will managed to hobble bleary eyed towards his mirror to pick up his glasses, rubbing at his face to try and wake himself up "Ouroboros, get back under there." He muttered without turning around, watching out the corner of his eye as the troublesome sleep paralysis demon hissed in annoyance and slithered itself back under his bed, impatiently drumming its shadowy claws against the cold wooden floor as Will opened the door and managed a half asleep trip down the stairs, groaning at the increasing volume of whatever commotion had half of his dogs racing up the stairs to greet him, happily coated in fresh blood (which was nothing particularly new) and fresh flowers (which was immensely stranger). 

Brows furrowed, Will managed to push past the pack while avoiding the blooms they trailed into the house. Blood was one thing, flowers were something different entirely. A trail leading all the way to the door where his sister and father blocked the view outside, arguing about whatever it was they saw. Will took his time, glancing curiously at the flowers and ferns before him. Asphodel, for death. Impatiens, for impatience. Achimeness, rare worth. And then for a moment, the meaning seemed to fade from the flowers. A cacophony of garish petals and buds Will couldn't decipher. Brows furrowed, he continued to follow the path his dogs had tracked, until right behind his family's feet the meanings hit him square in the face with enough power to tranquilize a werewolf. Gloxinia, Gardenia, Moss Rosebud, Ranunculus, Myrtle, Mistletoe. 

Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. 

Will found himself suddenly far more awake, gently pushing past his father to gaze upon where the flowers and blood had come from. A naked man, tied to the beams of the porch in every way that was possible in some macabre spider web, his head hung and limbs limp where they weren't bound. But that wasn't what Will found interesting about this corpse. The means of death was clear by the hole straight through the stranger's chest to the other side - right where the heart had been. And in place of the organ, he had been stuffed to overflowing with flowers to the point they seemed to explode from the cavity there, stray petals sticking pitifully to the blood and sweat of his skin. Entranced, Will took a step closer to the explosion of colour (though there was no denying the red of his blood seemed to dominate the scene - such a useful material), his hands running through the corpse's hair to raise his head. 

His eyes were nowhere to be seen, in fact his head had been given the same treatment as his heart. His eye sockets and his mouth stuffed beyond recognition with flowers of love, love, love. Will blinked himself out of his trance eventually, turning his head towards Miriam and his father as they fretted "What on Earth did you do at that party, Will?! Look at it! It-its a declaration of War!" Miriam stammered, while their father scowled and seethed with rage fit to overflow. Strangely, Will didn't look concerned. Not at all, simply curious as he kneeled to the floor and shooed away the mutts lapping at the blood left strewn across the wooden boards of the porch. Love. Love. Love. This was no announcement of war. This was a man strung up across the entry to their house by one material in particular, one Will had seen clambering feverishly up the side of the Hannibal greenhouse and threatening to kill him as he left the garden. Ivy vines. And as any florist worth their roses would tell you, Ivy wasn't used lightly. Its meaning was clear, and there was no mistaking why such a fickle material had been chosen in place of rope. 

"Not war, Miriam." Will muttered, still unable to tear his gaze away. "Windflower. Red tulip. Thornless rose. Motherwort. It's a declaration of love" His voice soft from something other than sleep, Will took a step closer and ran a hand across the bindings along the body, keeping it upright "Ivy vine. It's not just love - it's a marriage proposal." Will smiled, cupping the face of the dead man with an infinite fondness. It seemed as though nothing could ruin this moment, not just the notion of his family being saved - the notion of a proposal from someone as interesting as Dr. Hannibal Lecter. It was something he could happily envision. Another tango on a moonlit night, happily locked in a dance macabre even after death used its inviting claws to part them. A dance every night, no matter what it was that happened to them. Will smiled, still tenderly holding the face of Hannibal's unfortunate victim.

"Oh,Will! Do you see what this means?" Miriam laughed, coming up from behind him to wrap an arm around him. The poor man looked almost dizzy, eventually pulling his hand away from the lovely decoration Dr. Lecter had left for him "Yes." Even his voice was dreamy, no longer bothering to shoo away the dogs as they bounded over to continue their own work of licking up the pool of blood and flowers currently staining Will's hurriedly tugged on shoes. "Brother dear, Hannibal's cousin really did put in a good word for me!" Miriam beamed and rushed back into the house, leaving Will stuck to the spot with a sudden chill running through him cold enough to root him to the spot. His expression didn't shift, but one could have sworn the air turned colder. Will's father, ever slow on the uptake, didn't seem to notice. He laughed and crossed his arms, looking up towards the corpse "Well, hasn't this turned out well? At least your sister managed to snag a Lecter, hm?" Another bubble of laughter as he turned to walk inside after her "Oh! Will, be a dear and clean up Miriam's bouquet, would you?" He responded with nothing more than a tense nod, waiting until the door shut to let his expression sour. 

/Miriam's/ bouquet indeed. Will had half a mind to- to- Well, there's the rub. Their families both lingered in traditions long since dead, the most prominent of wedding traditions (besides a Mamushka) being the act of keeping the families of the bride and groom as separated as could be from the moment the engagement was decided upon. Breaking tradition simply wasn't on the table, not if he wanted things to go smoothly. The Grahams were on the cusp of going up in the world, and he knew with no lack of certainty that to ruin something so momentous would have him buried alive without so much as a gravestone. And, Will attempted to reason with himself, who was he to say the corpse had been for him in the first place? There was nothing that said Hannibal's dance with him hadn't been an attempt at getting closer to Miriam, and even if it hadn't been perhaps Hannibal's cousin really was that persuasive. 

The notion made his chest sink, but he knew it was one he'd have to resign himself to. A dance meant precious little in the grand scheme of things. Taking in a breath, Will began to cut at the vines to remove the corpse and its flowery offerings, when the lack of support made the rest of the foliage break in rapid succession and forced the dead man forward just as Will moved out of the way. The corpse had fallen onto its stomach, revealing its as yet unseen back. Will gasped slightly, sucking in his lips to resist making another noise. This bouquet wasn't one sided, and this bouquet wanted no mistakes to be made about who it was for. The man's back had been completely flayed, exposing crimson muscle and even bone, allowing space for what Hannibal had wished to plant there in neat rows up and down his unfortunate victim. Will's voice was quiet, barely a voice at all as he kneeled to pluck a bloodstained flower and sniff at it, savoring the metallic and the floral "...Sweet Williams."

Well, that settled it. He could no longer stay silent. Will stormed inside, clutching the flower like a mad man while Miriam and his father looked up from the catalogue of black wedding dresses they had been sifting through "Look! It- I- Sweet Williams-!" He announced through laughter, sounding utterly manic "It wasn't Miriam's bouquet at all, father. It was /mine/, Hannibal wants to marry me. Miriam, look, isn't it terrible?" Will beamed, up to his elbows in blood and gore from getting the corpse down. Miriam, however, didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. 

"Will, what are you talking about?" Her voice was harsh as stone. Before, he had sworn up and down that she had inherited everything from their mother, but now? He was beginning to see the resemblance to his father, who looked just as annoyed "Why would he want to marry you? You weren't there for him, you were there for Chiyoh. You didn't even talk to him, you spent the night pissing around the gardens and getting drunk while I was actually trying to /help/ this family. At least I got a good word in. What exactly did you do? Scare her into talking to the Vergers?" Will faltered, going for threatening and landing on something closer to kicked puppy "Miriam, listen-" but just as soon as he had spoke, he was cut off by her rising from the table. "No, you listen. This is my wedding, William. It's going to be /horrible/, I'm going to look /beautiful/, our family will be /important/ and you-" she paused, as though coming to a conclusion she'd rather have avoided. But as stubborn as any Graham, there was no backing down now "You won't be in attendance."

Like a petal in the breeze, she fled from the room with his father, and stood in the kitchen dripping with blood and clutching a flower, Will felt more alone than ever. What could he do? By the time Hannibal knew who he was marrying, it would be too late, and would he really be so impolite as to stop the wedding? Will had no clue - but there was one thing he knew for sure. He sure as hell was impolite enough. And not only that, he could stop it before it had a chance to begin. Will scowled, gently tucking the steadily wilting flower behind his ear and glancing down at his bloody hands. Miriam's wedding, but not for long. 

Miriam's wedding, Til death did them part.


	4. The Invitation and The Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriam's wedding indeed. Not if Will has any say in it. And thankfully, he does. An aria is such a pleasant soundtrack to attempted murder

Miriam's day had begun early; 4 o'clock sharp. And unlike certain members of the Graham household, she knew exactly which o'clock she preferred. It was her wedding day, after all, there was little time for her to waste. No, she had hours of getting ready to attend to, and even longer to spend idly giggling and waxing poetic about her dear fiance to any spider that should be unfortunate enough to cross her path. Preening and cooing over his eyes and his hair and his expertise in killing those that opposed him. Ridiculous, Will thought. She'd never even met him, and yet through the walls he could hear her prattling on and on as though every moment she wasn't talking of him was a moment closer to death. Will would prefer death to hearing her babbling. Frankly, he'd prefer death to any part of this insidious affair (and not the good kind). 

It had been a week since 'Miriam's' Bouquet had darkened their doorstep, and Will had the salvaged scraps of now half withered Sweet Williams and ivy to prove it. It was foolish sentiment, but he couldn't bare to part with them. Even if he became known as Cousin ivy-and-sweet-william until his dying days, and ended up some tragic, friendless relative his new family-in-law could gossip over to their heart's content while he stood sorrowful and draped in the mold and dust of decade old blooms he would always know as his. It sounded dreadful. Soothed by the idea of this potential future, Will sighed and sat up from his corpse-like position atop his bed, standing to be met with something other than one of Ouroboros' shadowy limbs come to ensnare him into the blackness under the bed. Instead, his foot landed on an ornate grey card, printed with silver lettering and decorated with spider webs and eye of newt. 

Miriam's idea of some cruel joke, no doubt. Dropping an invitation to an event he had been barred from. Finding himself missing the good old days when the worst she would dare was leaving a dynamite cap under his pillow, Will wiped the sleep from his eyes and picked up the invitation, giving Ouroboros' claw a halfhearted nudge back under the bed while the demon hissed in protest. Will had far bigger things on his mind to be frightened of being dragged down to hell. Glancing across the lettering, Will felt bile rise in the back of his throat in a sensation he usually would have found pleasant. This time well aware there was no hex from Wednesday to blame, Will squinted in some attempt to focus his hazy eyes on the writing. 

The Unholy Matrimony of:   
LECTER & GRAHAM  
Attach RSVP to delivery raven and/or scorpion  
(Please note: Vegetarian options will not be provided) 

Lecter and Graham. No first names, no way for Hannibal to know he was marrying the wrong sibling. Will seethed slightly, balling the invitation up in his hands and kicking it under the bed for Ouroboros to play with. Will felt as though he was going mad. The invitations, the decorations, the clothing and the menu, it was as though his family knew Will was right, and currently they were doing all they could to pretend they hadn't heard him and hadn't seen the barrage of sweet williams so obviously intended to be his. They thought he had lost his mind, but that was quite alright. That was something Will could work around.He cast a glance to the calendar on the wall where Miriam had so sweetly penciled in the date of /her/ wedding. The wedding he wouldn't be attending. Well, as far as anyone was aware anyway. 

Will pulled open his closet doors and quietly eased a hanger from the rack of clothing, gazing down at a suit that had been reserved for his funeral. It was gorgeous. Black from head to foot, from jacket to waistcoat to shirt and tie and trousers. Just the right fit for a wedding. For /Miriam's/ wedding. The reminder should have soured his expression, but Will seemed suddenly unable to lose the sinister grin that graced his features while button after button, shoelace after shoelace, his head repeated the occasion. Miriam's wedding, Miriam's wedding. Miriam's wedding to Hannibal Lecter, the man /Will/ had danced with until dawn. Miriam's wedding. 

Til death did them part, and quite soon it might. 

Quiet as a mouse and vile as a snake, Will's door yawned opened with a hissing creak, and out into the mob of canines there waiting for him he took a decisive step forth. The house was perfectly silent with festivity, the grandfather clock (so named because of the grandfather Graham inside) ticked a steady beat that echoed through the solitude and the darkness of the early morning house. Silence and stillness was customary on a wedding day, and this early in the morning it stood to reason that such a tradition would be well upheld. But beyond the soft skitter and pitter of canine claws against wooden floors, and the gentle ticking down the hall, noise radiated from Miriam's bedroom. 

'Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen,'  
Hell's vengeance boils in my heart, 

Opera. She'd never listened to opera before, and for a moment Will was curious enough to stand and listen to the music seeping through the door. Miriam sounded happy, and for a moment longer Will found himself unable to do more than stand and listen to her laugh and whirl around her bedroom as the haunting aria rang clear under cracks and bullet holes in the century old wood. She seemed so happy. Will took a hesitant step backward, wondering if he was making a mistake. Would it really be so bad to lose him? Their family would still rise all the same. Caught enough in his pause to forget to move as Miriam approached, the door swung open and music flooded far louder to meet his ears.

'Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!'  
Death and despair blaze around me.

"Oh- Will." Miriam muttered with one hand still attempting to hold her hair in the style she had been working on. "You're...wearing your funeral suit." She pointed out with a frown, gaze flicking like a bug to meet his. There was a certain sense of regret hanging heavy across her manner. As though she regretted something about this whole affair. It was foolish, but for a moment Will's hope built itself up. Perhaps she'd seen sense, and together they'd reclaim Will's wedding. Foolish enough to begin smiling, it didn't take too long for it to fall away when Miriam's stubbornness reared its pretentious head "Why? You know you aren't coming to the wedding. Now, why are you here? I'm trying to listen to opera - Hannibal enjoys it so." Suddenly, her happiness was no longer as bittersweet as it had been. It soured like cheap wine down his throat, and Will found his body moving of its own accord. 

The menacingly grandiose aria of rage rose to suit the occasion, its screaming staccatos like a laughing siren through the room as Miriam took a slight step backwards, studying Will's expression as he stepped inside surrounded by dogs that dripped blood from all colours of fur. This was no game of 'Is there a God?'. This was no joke before the wedding or a plea for forgiveness. Will gave the door a light kick, knocking it shut as Miriam tried to keep her bravery up. She knew Will. He was murderous, he was cruel. But never to the point of something irreversible. They buried each other alive, but always with enough wiggle room to dig oneself out again.

This time, Will would provide no escape. 

'Verstossen sei auf ewig, Verlassen sei auf ewig, Zertrümmert sei'n auf ewig, Alle Bande der Natur.'  
Disowned be you forever, Abandoned be you forever, Destroyed be forever, All the bonds of nature

The room heaved with tension as the song Miriam had never really enjoyed continued to blindly play. Dogs stared from Will to the unfortunate bride in rabid, rapid succession, waiting for the order. Will paused to pull a knife from his back pocket, taking a step toward Miriam. "Are you scared, Miriam?" He'd asked that before, during their games. "Afraid I'll make them attack you? Don't worry, dear sister. I'm no Mason Verger. They're only here to be trained." After all, what were victims to him? Tools for training. A way of showing his dogs how to kill. Will sighed, watching the modest hunting knife glint in the light of the barely risen sun. "Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc. We gladly feast on those that would subdue us." He murmured the credo like a solemn oath, raising his blade above his sister as she stood, frozen with terror. 

What were Will's victims to him? Meat. And rest assured, Ouroboros and the dogs would eat like royalty once Will was through. He might even take some for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned is Der Hölle Rache, also known as The Queen of the Night's aria or the Rage aria!


	5. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every good bride deserves a little help on her wedding day. What kind of brother would Will be if he didn't provide?

Contrary to what most thought of him, Hannibal wasn't the type to rise early. He was a sociable, well mannered man. And such an attitude called for a gentle start to one's day. It was hard, after all, to enjoy a foggy, morbid morning without the sun to illuminate the gloom. No, Hannibal was more inclined to wake himself at 8 o'clock, rested enough to go about his day with a smile that didn't quite reach his gaze - a well perfected family trait. By 9, he would usually have dressed himself and eaten breakfast, ready for a day of watching his patients squirm under the morbid decor that filled his office as well as his family home - the poisoned apple rarely falls too far from the tree, after all. 

But today? Well, today was hardly any ordinary day. Even a man as habitual as Hannibal had to concede that on a day as lovely as this, with fog heavy on the air and clouds that threatened to split apart into a sheet of torrential rain, there was call for waking early. And even if today had been the most garishly sunny, cloudless thing he had ever set his eyes on, Hannibal was sure he'd still find himself happier than usual. For the past week, in fact, he'd been happier than usual. Will, as far as he was aware, had accepted his proposal with open arms and a gift of his own. A corpse of some delivery worker, left on the steps of the Lecter household with a crudely carved heart spanning the length of his chest. It wasn't quite as artistic or as beautiful as he had expected from a man of Will's attitude, but how could he focus on the negatives now? When once again it would be no one but them in a stagnant garden, eyes alight with a murderous fire they could indulge in whenever they wished. Perhaps, if Will would allow, Hannibal would teach him how to make his murals all the prettier. Hannibal chuckled, glancing out towards the miserable sky and turning towards his expansive closet, ready for the challenge of finding a fitting suit without disturbing the bats that roosted there.

Needless to say, that corpse hadn't been Will's doing. It had been Miriam's, a body she had left still warm at the steps of the house and skittered away like a poorly cultured rat. It was endearing, in its way. That she had been so very excited by the notion of her very own gothic wedding that she'd rushed something so very important. Will would never have dared. His design would have been perfection. Hannibal had offered him a fragment of Botticelli's Primavera. Head to foot in flowers he had been gifted Flora, the goddess of such foliage. Well, there was still plenty of La Primavera left to recreate. Zephyrus, Chloris, Venus, Cupid - the list went on. And for Hannibal, Will would recreate them all. He'd certainly make something better than the cliche offering Miriam had carelessly strewn at his feet. Well, Will reminded himself to try and soothe the rage making his movements sloppy. 

She wouldn't get a chance to do something so disrespectful again.

He smiled some at that, lifting his arm to wipe the sweat and blood from his brow as he worked out his design. Simple, yet effective. Just a few touches here and there, hardly a masterpiece, but it wasn't as though Will had the time to create something as beautiful as he wished to. It was an annoying but necessary evil. Humming the familiar Aria that had been playing on repeat for a few hours now, Will glanced towards the door handle as it rattled. The time had come, and Will had never felt so very alive. "Poor Miriam is feeling sick! She'll be along in a moment, she just needs some coaxing - you can leave without her, I'll make sure she gets to the cemetery in time" Will assured with the brightest of smiles, rising to make sure the door was still very much locked as the footsteps receded down the stairs and towards the door. The day of the wedding and the house was devoid of life save for himself. There had been more, he supposed, but not anymore. 

So why then, when his back was turned did Will hear a sudden stumble and grunt. Frowning, he turned on his heel to face the bride, bloody and breathing heavy, yet still very much alive, clutching onto Will's knife for dear life. How very stubborn the Graham family could be.

The wedding was scheduled to begin at 11 o'clock (with, as tradition dictated, more than enough guess work for whichever 11 o'clock that might be), and Will's family had been ready and present since 7 o'clock at the very graveyard they had met in. It was an intimate joke, Hannibal had thought, as well as a means of having Mischa involved in the ceremony. A means of repentance, he considered. A pretty ceremony for her to watch from her grave, maybe then she'd concede to being a ghost instead of wallowing all alone in her tomb. Yes, the ceremony sounded lovely. It was planned to utter perfection, the hedges first coaxed then terrified into creating a kind of walled off area for seats to be set in and an aisle to walk down, carefully decorated with spider webs and ravens feathers to form a ghostly carpet to what one could better describe as a gravestone than an altar. The whole affair was utterly ghastly, and Hannibal found he couldn't wait. 

Now if only Will would show up. 

He stood, at the loosely defined altar, dressed in a black and silvery grey pinstripe suit and waistcoat, a bow-tie of a similar colour expertly tied around his neck. They had a friendly enough ghost to conduct the ceremony, they had every guest (other than Will's sibling he hadn't bothered to learn the name of), they had the decorations and the music and the food. But only one groom. Growing rather nervous, Hannibal took in a breath and glanced about the room, towards his own family casting venomous glances to Will's. Something had to be done - and it had to be done quickly. Smiling to hide the worry in his eyes, Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, when the harpsichord in the corner of the hedged off room began to play. 

A hush fell across the room, and bloody and pale a feminine hand in the sleeve of black wedding gown shook as it reached out from behind the hedges to steady itself. Miriam's wedding, Miriam's arm. How stubborn she could be sometimes, living through it all. But this isn't where our story ends, because unfortunately for dear Miriam, Will could be just as stubborn. 

The arm fell limp and back behind the hedges for a moment, before in the hush of the crowd and the fog of the day, Will emerged. His gorgeous funeral suit was nowhere what it was, reduced to a simple black shirt and trousers as he walked slow and bloody and purposeful down the aisle and towards the grave ahead, Cousin Wednesday ahead of him halfheartedly throwing lizard's teeth from a small basket. (She'd always despised the notion of being a flower girl - at least teeth made it interesting) But the eyes of the crowd weren't on Wednesday. They weren't on Will's clothing, for that matter. Most of the Grahams that weren't gasping in abject horror had their gaze fixed on Will's bouquet. Sundried and withered one and all, Gloxinia, Gardenia, Moss Rosebud, Ranunculus, Myrtle, Mistletoe and Sweet William, all of it bound together with ivy vine. Love. Love. Love and marriage. With just one more thing that made a far prettier centrepiece than Will had ever envisioned. 

Miriam's arm. Still warm, still bloody, reaching up with fingers like flower petals in the foggy light of the occasion. Will's expression betrayed nothing but contentment, standing opposite Hannibal with a bloody grin as the ceremony progressed, half the crowd in a state of shock that their Hannibal was marrying a man that couldn't bother to clean up for his own wedding, the other half white as a sheet at the knowledge Will was willing to kill one of his own with so little remorse. Really, who could blame him? This was a horrible day, how could one help but smile. "Thank you, Miriam." Will muttered to the clawed hand in the middle of his flowers and watched as it scuttled away like a spider to perch in the seat that had been reserved for it. It seemed her rebellious nature was easier to quell now Miriam wasn't all there. The best the rest of her could do now was provide an exceptionally familiar bone for Will's mutts to fight over for a while. 

Stiff as statues, Hannibal and Will were stood as they had begun, staring at one another with the utmost fascination and curiously as the redheaded ghost at the altar recited the vows, her focus less on the words and more on the duo before her, like the slightest movement would provide the perfect ghostly gossip. Hannibal would have found it rude, normally. But stood with his soon-to-be husband with his skin so pale, eyes so black and bloodied shirt cut down to Lithuania, it was awfully hard to think about anything more than him. Regaining focus on the situation was no easy feat, but both seemed to manage it after a moment, coming out of their respective daydreams to find that their hands had linked. 

"- and uh, Hannibal. Do you take Will Graham to be your husband in sickness, health, life, death and whatever other options there are?" She asked, fingers visibly itching to write something down about the scandal of it all. 

"I do." He responded smoothly enough, giving Will's hand a light squeeze. 

Oh, the ghost nearly fell through the floor (which she could do fairly simply, but there was hardly time to get into that now) "Right, uhuh, okay. Will, same question. Do you want to marry this fella?" She had a headline running through her head, and she'd get it out even if she had to possess the nearest pencil - 'Long live the Murder Husbands'. No, no…'Graham's gone crackers!' God no. Whatever, she'd work it out later

Will laughed, slightly manic as he glanced towards Hannibal. "I do."

There was no cheering. No celebration. Not even a smile from the ghost as she disappeared out of the hedges in a spectral mist. No sound other than the gentle rhythm of the harpsichord and the occasional sob from someone on Will's side of the family. Right now, they didn't matter. Because with a sudden gasp and bubble of laughter, Will had been swept into Hannibal's arms and carried out into the garden, both of them delirious with excitement as the sun bravely attempted to shine through the thick fog and down onto them both. It needn't have bothered. They only had eyes for each other right now. Grinning, Hannibal came to rest against a large weeping willow covered in the skeletal remains of small forest animals it had strangled in its branches. 

"Unhappy, Darling?" He asked, quite breathless as he brushed a few blood and sweat slick curls from Will's forehead. Will smiled, giving in to the comfort of it all and lifting Hannibal's hand, pressing a bloodstained kiss to the back of his palm. 

"Oh, yes. Completely."


	6. The Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lecter-Grahams and their domestic bliss is shattered by the arrival of a few new friends. Will thinks he might have found a few new additions to their latest project

Will's day used to begin at 6 o'clock sharp. He rose with the sun (or rose as it set - depending on who you asked), but as of late, he found himself waking far later than expected. He didn't know what it was, perhaps the comfort of the plush bed, perhaps the soothing noise of things in old houses that go bump in the night. Whatever it was, it had the peculiar effect of making Will wake with a smile and a light sigh, rolling over and curling up for just a few more minutes instead of immediately sitting up and getting on with his day. Who could blame him? Luxury was a hell of a drug, and his time with Hannibal had left Will quite the addict. It had been little two years now, and both seemed just as besotted with each other as the night they had first danced among the carcasses of bushes and flowers. They still did, in fact. Though both could agree that the carcasses they preferred to waltz around now were far more pleasant than any plant life. Two years happily married in the Lecter family home, living with Chilton, Bedelia (Will's rather eccentric aunt), Will's copious amount of dogs and Miriam. Strangely, she didn't seem to mind her life as nothing more than an arm. - well, if she did, she'd have a hard time telling anyone.

Their life seemed to sit on the pinnacle of morbid bliss, a two year long honeymoon simply because both of them refused to let the period end. Not until their pet project was complete, at any rate. Their masterpiece first, then they'd concede and give in to the notion of being a regular, happily married couple. As normal as a member of the Lecter-Graham family could be. Since Will's bouquet, he'd developed a passion for La Primavera, and the notion of recreating it to perfection still weighed heavy on his mind. The perfect display piece to display just how ruthless their family could be. After two years, they probably should have completed it by now, but passion and its enchanting spell could be a bitch to resist, and both found that at the end of the hunt little more could be done with the body than some salvaging for meals. It was rare for either to exercise enough control to resist a little mutilation. And often, it didn't take much cooing and coaxing for either to be wrenched out of that sickeningly sensible frame of mind and back out into the fray.

So for now their creation remained woefully half finished - but this particular morning Will had felt creative. Dreams of horror and ghastly things had left him suitably well rested, content enough to lean his head against Hannibal's shoulder as his chest rose and fell heavy with sleep. He was used to sleeping late. But it hardly mattered who was awake and who wasn't, because quite suddenly the obnoxious noise of the doorbell screamed for attention, waking up those that hadn't been already. Will groaned despite the fact he was already awake, throwing the covers over his head in a blind act of protest. Waking early in no way meant he was ready for productivity so early in the day. Unfortunately, Hannibal adored seeing his beloved so productive

With a sleepy, good natured laugh as he pulled back the covers, Hannibal pressed a devoted kiss to Will's cheek, softening him enough to sigh and open his eyes while Hannibal stretched. Will stood up, ready to greet the chorus of the incessant doorbell down the stairs "You should see the sky today, mi amor." He mused, now half dressed while Hannibal sighed and began to begrudgingly roll from the soft sheets, listening to Chilton greet their early morning guests. Rude of them, to arrive without warning. "Dark clouds. Looks like there might be a storm" Will continued once fully dressed, taking a moment to lean out the window and savour the blissful foreboding that soured the early morning mist. 

"What a terrible day." Hannibal smiled in agreement, peering over Will's shoulder to catch a glimpse at exactly who had been let into their humble home. Two dark haired men, both looking equally as hesitant about stepping inside. "You know," he remarked, voice as level as ever. "It's been such a long time since we went on a decent hunt." Will rolled his eyes, affectionately patting Hannibal's cheek and beginning to descend the stairs as the door slammed to a close behind the two, making them jump. "Hannibal, we went hunting yesterday. Besides, they wouldn't suit the picture." He responded idly enough for them to have been talking about nearly anything, offering their guests a good natured smile as Miriam scuttled past their legs, evoking a matching pair of screams. 

Will had been hesitant, but there was no denying their screaming made his eyes spark with some level of interest, sparing Hannibal a glance and rolling his eyes at the triumphant look on his face. "Fine. I guess we can fit them in as Zephyrus and Chloris. Better than using Bedelia and that bastard from the pet sanctuary. 'Dogs are covered in blood' my ass. They'd barely killed anyone that day" Working up a suitably murderous rage while Hannibal watched in delight and in awe, Will cleared his throat and continued to walk down the stairs with Hannibal at his side, letting his husband take the lead for a moment while he worked on cooling down. Seething with rage was a pleasant experience, but not when company was present. Hannibal seemed content with taking charge in social matters, gently wrapping an arm around Will and trying not to swoon over the way those angry fingers dug into his suit hard enough to leave indents against his skin. 

"Good Morning, Gentlemen! What can me and my husband do for you?" Hannibal asked, idly plucking a large spider from a table nearby and tutting "Now really Olympia. Trying to bite our guests? How rude of you." The arachnid gave no sign it had heard him, happily scurrying along Hannibal's arm and behind his back to who knows where. "Ah! But back to what you were saying, Mr-...?" The duo looked an unhealthy shade of red and white respectively, giving nervous laughs and talking over one another until they calmed enough to speak. The taller of the two, who's fear had left him an interesting ghostly colour, spoke first "Hi! Mr Lecter-Graham, right? So lovely to be in your uh- wonderful home. I'm Brian Zeller, this is my colleague Jimmy Price." Price, the one that had turned such a strange shade of red, still seemed unable to speak. Watching like a hawk as Olympia happily crawled up Hannibal's back and perched upon his shoulder - 'hawk' being the wrong animal for it. He watched like a meerkat who'd never witnessed something so terrifying, his arm tight on Zeller's much like Will's on Hannibal, though the contrast in emotion was more than apparent.

Clearly able to note his colleague would be more than out of commission for this one, Zeller offered a strained smile and tried to keep his focus on Hannibal's eyes and not the dogs excitedly weaving about them both, dripping with what he could only hope was some rich-people brand of red dog food "We- uh- We're from The Teacup Appeal - its a charity for orphaned children, sirs." He explained, thankfully a little better with his speaking when explaining his occupation. For a moment, he almost seemed confident. Until something instinctive and hauntingly prey-like realized that the glint in the eyes of both Lecter-Grahams was something closer than excitement than pity for such unfortunate children. "And," he paused to swallow his fear, stubbornly continuing onward "/And/ we're here to offer an invitation to a charity auction that's being hosted. We're just about to pick up one of the girls in the society's care and take her to a therapy session, you see. So we uh- thought we'd drop by to say hello!" Zeller trailed off with a smile, calming slightly to see a matching expression on Will's face. Perhaps it was just his husband that had a love for such eccentric manners. 

No such luck. Will reached a hand upwards, letting Olympia clamber onto it with a gleeful hiss "For orphans, you say? Isn't that wonderful, Hannibal. Do you plan on killing their parents yourself?" Will enquired, his expression giving no sign of humour. In fact, the only laughter in the room came from Hannibal, who gave a resounding chuckle and glanced over Price's shoulder towards Chilton "Frederick, could you shut the door please, you're letting a draft in." Filled with the intense sense that they shouldn't let that door close, Price offered Zeller a tense smile and finally managed to speak up with his gaze barely meeting Will's or Hannibal's. "Oh! We'd really love to stay, but- well, we have work to-" 

Hannibal cut them off, moving from Will's side to stand behind them, the duo now blocked from all sides by a combination of growling dogs and their masters. "Really? So soon?" He enquired, punctuated with a nod from Will as he reached into his back pocket, eyes on anywhere he could strike without ruining his new canvases "Yes. We haven't even had breakfast." Stormy blue eyes met Hannibal's, warm in colour and freezing cold in focus. They'd done this often enough that their warnings and their bargaining had become wordless. Zeller and Price didn't know it, but their deaths had just been planned for them. 

"Well, if you really must go, I suppose I'll get the door for you, gentlemen" Hannibal smiled, letting the two relax and head for the door. Like lambs to slaughter. For a moment, the lovers let them think that they'd gotten free. Just enough time for them to take a step outside before Will and Hannibal were on them like animals. Twin knives marking twin wounds in the backs of the two charity workers as they fell forwards down the stairs, gasping and grappling with Will and Hannibal all the way down. It was admirable, Hannibal had to concede. They fought tooth and nail to live despite everything that so clearly said they couldn't, both attempting in vain to crawl back to the car as if it would save them. But no. The damage had been done, and for now Hannibal and Will were content to cool the urge to toy with the bodies by toying with each other, happily running bloody hands through bloody hair and cooing pet names and compliments while their unlucky visitors bled out across the gravelled path. They'd fought bravely, but all good things must come to an end. Even the best of murders can't last forever. 

Sighing the way one might after a satisfying morning of fishing, Will kneeled to check the pulses of their victims, watching his dogs happily lap at the puddles of blood and sniff curiously at the newly dead things at their feet. Normal behaviour for their beloved pack animals, were it not for the few that trotted towards the car the two had arrived in, sniffing at the doors and standing on their hind legs to peek into the windows. Will stood again, slowly approaching as Hannibal did and watching the display. It could have been anything grabbing their attention. An unattended sandwich, an interesting beam of light. But Will was no idiot - he knew his dogs well, and more than that he knew that something as boring as food would distract them from two fresh kills. So, he watched. Silent and confused as Winston stood to peer into the back window of the car.

And to the surprise of everyone left alive, he was met with a scream. 

Hannibal frowned, glancing towards Will in yet another wordless exchange, instinctively reaching to wrap a bloodsoaked arm around him as they approached and opened the door, blades held behind their backs to deal with the last living guest. But even Hannibal had a moral code, and though Will's wild nature was more inclined to break free from his, he had one too. This was no charity worker too lazy to come into the house. This was a child. She sat, tearful and helpless with her eyes wider and wilder than they had any right to be, her fists balled as she rubbed away at tears. A child. Hannibal was the first to soften, quickly setting his weapon atop the roof of the car and kneeling to eye level with the girl, Will begrudgingly following suit. He didn't know what to do with her - but he knew getting attached wouldn't bode well.

Blind to reason beyond his own stubborn sentiment, Hannibal kept his gaze fixed upon their tearful acquaintance, carefully withdrawing and offering a handkerchief she grabbed at before moving back again. Instincts like a wounded animal. And before Will knew it, he was softening too. Hannibal spoke first, his voice like honey as he weaved his perfectly crafted web. Will was his exception - a man born into the macabre and as such on an equal level to him. It didn't take manipulation to turn Will into what he wanted - Not when Will was already that and far, far more. But the rest of the world wasn't so very lucky. Starting with this little girl. He might have killed her, if Will had asked him to. But there was something in those tiny hands and limp brown hair that reminded him of a familiar statue in the graveyard, something in those haunted eyes he could see every day in Will's. This girl was most acquainted with misery. 

Mind made up, he reached to give Will's hand a light squeeze. "Hello, miss. I'm Dr. Lecter-Graham. You're meant to be in therapy today, aren't you?" She nodded, short and sharp as her eyes darted slightly, still clutching the handkerchief like the moment she loosened her touch it would be torn away. "Well, I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. I think it's best you stay with me and my husband for the moment, miss-" he prompted, brow raised as the girl shuffled ever so slightly towards the open door

"Miriam." 

Will's expression soured for a moment, but with a clear of his throat he managed a smile again, gently offering her his hand after wiping the blood onto his trousers "Really? I would have thought you'd have a prettier name than that." Hannibal offered his husband a light roll of his eyes, but seemed content to go along with it, gently coaxing their little visitor out of the car and onto the bloodsoaked stone, watching her give a reluctant giggle as Winston snuffled at her hair. "I-...I like Abigail." She murmured after a moment of contemplation far too intense for such a young thing, glancing from Hannibal to Will for their approval. 

And sure enough, both seemed delighted. Hannibal took her left hand, Will took her right and together they walked into the large house, coaxing her with soft questions about her favourite kind of spider and weapon of choice. The door shut behind them, but neither seemed to mind. As of now, there were better things to focus on than corpses - if you'd ever believe a statement so outlandish. Will smiled, pulling Hannibal by the tie down to eye level and kissing his cheek. "A daughter before our honeymoon is over," He tutted, head lolling to lean against his shoulder while the newly named Abigail chased after Olympia and a few smaller spider "what on Earth will the neighbours think."

Hannibal chuckled, giving Will a playful nudge and glancing around their home with a contented smile. Fathers, daughter, aunt, butler, demons and pets. The perfect family. Preening over their success, his cold hands found their way into Will's hair in a familiar act of affection. "I don't think they'll mind, querido. We're nothing out of the ordinary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The family is all complete - thus ends our adventure with the Lecter-Grahams! I wanted to keep this short and sweet, but I'd always be open to a few more chapters if you dudes have any ideas or requests!!

**Author's Note:**

> Awww shit it's baby's first fanfic! Absolutely terrified to post this ngl, but feel free to comment any advice and/or what you liked uwuw


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